


ill fitting.

by pissyellowcrocs



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i got into watchmen like. a week ago and i havent been able to stop thinking about it since, if anything is off in terms of tone or characterization <3 my bad, love and light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissyellowcrocs/pseuds/pissyellowcrocs
Summary: an archive for danror related content i feel like writing.
Relationships: Dan Dreiberg/Rorschach
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. bruises.

Something Rorschach noticed relatively early in their partnership, was that Daniel had a sickening proficiency at making the ugliest things seem pleasant. The way red cascading from his nose contrasted agreeably with his skin, or how the noises he made when injured weren't pitiable, rather, a testament to his dedication to justice. Even the way he urgently peeled a tight undershirt from his torso after patrol, as if he breathed through his pores and was beginning to suffocate. Bruises of harsh yellows and blues bloomed beneath flushed skin, sprawling out across muscle as if eager to cover as much surface as possible. Lesions on Rorschach were gnarled and ugly, made him look damaged and reminded him only of his shortcomings. 

And yet, somehow, Daniel made violence look like a tapestry. 

For a moment, Walter gets the unbearable urge to reach out a finger or two, graze across discolored flesh with barely any contact at all. Of course, Rorschach does not give. When his partner looks over toward him, asks him if something was wrong, (he must have been staring) he shakes his head and tastes metal in his mouth, having mindlessly bitten his tongue so hard it drew blood. 

When he finally closes his eyes to rest that day, a palette of tasteful bruises upon familiar skin ceaselessly dance under his eyelids.


	2. hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last chapter // but role reversed. it's about the longing gazes and also i'm projecting. finals week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important to note that i write daniel as a trans man. doesn't come up in this chapter but i think it probably will at some point.

When it came to learning new bits of information about Rorschach, Dan was far from picky. Not desperate, but close. Yes, he knew that he should respect his partner's boundaries and not pry like a middle schooler desperate to sneak a glimpse into the girls' locker room, but honestly, he couldn't help it. It was worse in the beginning for sure, finding himself thinking about whatever was behind mesmerizing swirls of black on white far more often than what could be deemed appropriate, but after a the first year, curiosity stilled, and it became little more than an occasional, albeit intrusive fantasy. Yet, when Dan turned around to see Rorschach tear off one of his gloves with his teeth for a reasons he was unaware, he was beguiled. He had a good view of his hand from a few feet away, but took a few steps closer for a closer look. Rorschach either didn't notice, or simply didn't care, too busy poking and prodding at his fingers, probably checking them for fractures. 

He had surprisingly slender digits, though joints were prominent, jutting out like harsh knobs, skin doing very little to cushion the bone. There was a smattering of faintly red hair on his knuckles, but it did nothing to make his hand any more full. The back of his hand was dry and cracked, dusted with freckles and the occasional nick or discolored scar - not to mention the scabs; old ones, ones that had obviously been picked at, and were freshly bleeding. Not to mention the grime caked under bitten fingernails - it should have been wholly unappealing, but it was like the palm had captured his own stare, returning it tenfold. 

Dan considers, for a moment, what those hands would feel like. Horribly dry, he was sure; rough, like nature's sandpaper, but there was a quality about them, the way each finger moved, that made him think otherwise. It would depend on the pressure each finger would apply, of course; what the intent of his touch was, how firm the grip would - 

Dan's brief reverie is rudely interrupted by Rorschach slipping his glove back on.

"Need something?"

Daniel shakes his head, slightly feeling like he was caught with his trousers down. Still, he allows himself to indulge for another millisecond, eying how fingers smoothly find a home in worn leather.

"Oh, no - no," and his armor feels just a bit warmer now, and he assures himself that all men look at their coworker's hands like that sometimes, "Just thinking."


End file.
